


The Highly Improbable Sleep Habits of a Former Drone

by kerisempai



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6324016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerisempai/pseuds/kerisempai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desperate attempt to win B'Elanna back, Tom decides to hold her stuffed targ hostage. Things do not go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Highly Improbable Sleep Habits of a Former Drone

The hallway was deserted.

Knowing it was now or never, Tom Paris strode from the doorway, flinching slightly at the whoosh of the door closing behind him. The small noise seemed extraordinarily loud in the empty hall. As he walked, he situated the black bag on his shoulder. No one would think anything of Voyager’s pilot walking through the crew quarters of the ship with his gym bag. Certainly he must be off to a velocity match with Ensign Harry Kim, or perhaps he intended to avail himself of Voyager’s gym after his shift on the bridge. That’s what he told himself, and any other time, that might well have been true, but today the helmsman’s black bag did not contain any equipment or clothing, and the quarters he had so stealthily emerged from were definitely not his own.

Tom’s heart was racing, certain that he would be discovered at any moment. Tom had felt this feeling on numerous occasions. The adrenaline rush was just one of the many reasons that he so enjoyed the holodeck, but here in the real word, with no preset safeties he just wanted to complete his mission and retreat to his own quarters, where he could joyfully celebrate his success, and wait for a certain half-Klingon engineer to come a knocking.

Tom had been reliving some of the highlights of his relationship with B’Elanna over a game of pool with Harry the night before. Though they had broken up several months ago, Tom had yet to move on, and after a few beers seemed to only remember the “good times.” He, of course didn’t dare try this tactic with B’Elanna herself, as she would be quick to point out that the reason they no longer experienced “good times” was because of his philandering nature, and penchant for groping holocharacters. Still, if Paris wanted to paint his relationship with B’Elanna a rosy hue of pink, Harry wasn’t going to stop him.

During the course of the conversation, Tom was taken with a brilliant plan to get B’Elanna back. He knew that if he could just get B’Elanna back into bed, everything would fall neatly back into place. Harry tried to dissuade the pilot again and again, but Tom was certain, once B’Elanna was in his quarters, his charm would sweep her back off her feet. Tom’s plan was a guaranteed success. He just needed to offer B’Elanna a very good reason to come seek him out.

The entrance to his quarters was just around the next bend. He was almost home free, or at least would have been if he hadn’t risked one last look over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind him. Instead he plowed directly into Voyager’s resident ex-Borg, who in the helmsman’s defense, was intently focused on the PADD in her hands and not watching where she was going either.

The two collided with enough force to knock them both to the floor, PADD and bag scattering around them.

Tom blinked from his new position on the floor, willing the stars before his eyes to retreat back outside the ship. They did, bringing the lanky blond into focus. Seven lay on her back, not moving. The sound of the tubolift’s arrival alerted him to the presence of others a second later. B’Elanna’s unmistakable alto drifted down the curving corridor, followed by Harry’s laughter.

Tom panicked. He gave no thought to the Chief of Astrometrics, still sprawled across from him, but simply jumped awkwardly to his feet and beat a hasty retreat back the way he had come. Perhaps if the helmsman had been a stronger, braver, or even brighter man he would have remembered to gather the mysterious black bag in his flight, but alas in the brain of Tom Paris, flight beat out fight nearly every time.

* * *

B’Elanna and Harry walked from the turbolift, both in an affable mood and very much looking forward to a night of relaxation and the next day off. They each felt the smiles and laughter slip from their faces, when they discovered Seven of Nine half-lying across the hallway. Her hair had come partially undone from its normally ordered style, and a PADD and small bag were laying several feet away.

“Seven are you okay?” Harry immediately crouched down to check the stunned former Borg, putting a supportive hand on her arm.

“I am functioning,” Seven responded, confusion evident in her tone. The ex-drone was scanning her eidetic memory for how she had landed in her current position. She had been going over the report she had prepared for the Captain on her way to the Wildman quarters for her weekly game of Kadis Kot with Naomi. Something had rammed into her, knocking her to the floor and the breath from her lungs. Seven pursed her lips together in annoyance, frustrated by her inability to identify the source of the collision.

She brought a mesh-covered hand to the back of her head, and felt a small knot there. It was painful, but did not appear to be serious.

“What exactly happened here?” B’Elanna questioned, unaware of the heated tone of her voice. Seeing Seven in such a vulnerable position disturbed and angered her. She was kneeling on Seven’s other side before she even realized that was her intention.

“I believe that I ran into someone,” Seven stated, eschewing Harry’s outstretched hand, and rising on her own. She swayed for a moment, and B’Elanna reached out to steady her with a hand on her waist. Seven look down at the engineer, surprised by the assistance from the normally stand-offish woman.

“You didn’t see who it was?” Harry asked, bending down to gather Seven’s belongings.

“No, but it is irrelevant, as I am uninjured.” Seven was quickly regaining her Borg arrogance. She wanted to remove herself from this embarrassing scene, and the too warm touch of the half-Klingon. Seven did not like to appear less than perfect before the engineer, and was concerned that the other woman would commence mocking her any minute for her lack of attention.

Harry, slightly hurt by Seven’s dismissal of his concerns thrust her belongings into the blonde’s arms, and turned to go. “Well, you look like you took quite a fall Seven. You should go let the doc check you out at least.”

“Thank you for your concern Ensign Kim, but I assure you I am functioning well within acceptable parameters.” With that she stepped away from B’Elanna’s supporting hand, turned on her heel, and resumed her original course.

The two officers could only watch the stoic woman walk away.

It wasn’t until Seven reached the Wildman’s residence that she realized she was holding a black bag that did not belong to her.

* * *

For two months Seven had been attempting to master the art of sleeping. This was at the insistence of both the doctor and the Captain. Seven was less than pleased at her success thus far. Regenerating was far more efficient, and the former Borg did not enjoy the hour or so of sleep that she had been able to achieve, or the groggy feeling she awoke with.

The Emergency Medical Hologram had assured her that her sleep cycles would even out, and that she would begin sleeping for longer intervals soon. Seven disagreed, but knew that it was futile to protest, as the Captain had given her a direct order to ‘try’ this sleeping regiment for at least six months. To insure that the ex-drone followed this order, Janeway had limited Seven’s regeneration time to half of what she had been formerly getting.

A sleeping chamber had been erected in Cargo Bay Two for this purpose, complete with a bed, dressing area, and small en-suite.

So, as Seven made her way through the door of the cargo bay after an evening with Samantha and Naomi Wildman she felt the newly familiar feeling of exhaustion. The former Borg cast a look of longing at her alcove, but continued on to the ‘bedroom’. The room still made Seven uncomfortable, it’s sleeping surface seemed to mock her each time she entered, but she deemed such thoughts irrelevant. The blonde deposited both the PADD and black satchel on a side table and walked into the en-suit.

Several minutes later she returned, hair down and stark naked. It seemed to her logical mind, a complete waste of time, effort, and ship’s resources to replicate a garment simply for sleeping. She had tried sleeping in pajamas and found that she had no more success in them than out, so like many things, had deemed them irrelevant.

Seven sat on the bed, reaching over to pull the black bag from the table. She was curious about it, knowing that whoever had knocked her to the floor earlier must have dropped it. Her plan had been to turn it over to Tuvok the next day, assuming that the Security Chief would return it to the proper owner. She had refrained from opening it, or examining it in any way, but now found that she was intrigued.

There were no outward marks of ownership, and the bag was surprisingly lightweight and… she struggled for the appropriate adjective… soft, malleable, squishy? Seven eased the fastening open, and became even more puzzled. She widened the opening further, pulling the object out and into the light.

She held in her hands a very ugly, speckled, boar-like creature. Seven realized three things almost immediately: the object in question was a ‘stuffed animal’, for she had a great familiarity with the veritable plush zoo Naomi Wildman kept in her quarters, the toy was a representation of a targ, a beast only found on the Klingon homeworld of Qo’noS, and finally that there was only one possible owner for the thing.

Seven studied the targ, noting that the once plush fur was worn away in many places, matted in others, and that one of its prominent tusks was significantly shorter than the other. She brought it closer to her face, inspecting the one remaining eye. In such close proximity to her olfactory organ, Seven couldn’t help but inhale the distinct fragrance of Voyager’s Chief Engineer and only Klingon. She had never given much thought to Lieutenant Torres’s scent before, but now despite herself she brought the toy even closer in order to experience even more of it.

Sometime later, after having inspected and catalogued each square millimeter of the miniature beast, Seven crawled beneath the covers, and called for lights out, the stuffed targ firmly held by her fully human arm.

* * *

The next morning on Voyager found Seven of Nine pleasantly refreshed from her very first good night’s sleep. She had awoken with a much loved stuffed targ in her arms and a smile on her usually placid features. After donning a fresh uniform and readying herself for the day, she placed her new treasure in a storage compartment within her Borg alcove, securing its safety with a complex Borg encryption code. The fact that the targ was not technically hers, did not factor into her actions, at least not until much later that day.

B’Elanna Torres did not view the new day with such a sunny disposition. The Chief Engineer walked into the mess hall ready to rip the head off the first person who glanced at her funny.

Someone had broken into her quarters the day before and kidnapped her stuffed targ, Toby. As tired as she’d been after a night of drinking and taking Harry’s money from him at pool, she probably wouldn’t have noticed that Toby was missing, but the kidnapper had been sure to leave a detailed note, stipulating that the targ would remain in their possession unless B’Elanna agreed to meet later that evening wearing her much neglected little black dress.

The half-Klingon was no fool, only so many people knew of her much loved plush pet, and even fewer would desire to see her dressed in something other than her uniform. So B’Elanna had immediately stormed off to Tom Paris’s quarters. Tom’s pathetic attempts to ignore her pounding on his door had led the volatile woman to physically override his security codes and discover the cringing helmsmen cowering behind his own couch.

“PetaQ!” she said dragging Paris out from behind the couch by his earlobe. “Where’s Toby? How dare you break in to my quarters! I want him back. Now!”

Tom had tried desperately not to wet himself, and quickly decided that his only course of action was to stick to the little truth available to him. He couldn’t possibly tell B’Elanna that he was sure Seven had the stupid targ, because that would be admitting both that he had taken Toby in the first place, and that while making his get-a-way he’d not only knocked the former Borg senseless, but lost the stuffed animal as well.

“I don’t have him. He’s not here!”

B’Elanna pulled his ear harder, bringing his tall frame down so she could watch his eyes. “If you don’t have him then where is he?” she said in a voice that was one step away from a growl.

“I don’t know.” This was pretty much the truth. If Seven did have the targ she could have put him anywhere. Knowing Seven, she either gave it to Naomi or turned it into Tuvok.

The engineer gave him one last glare, and let go of his abused ear. “So help me Tom, if I find out you’re behind this…” she left her threat unfinished.

Tom gulped audibly, and backed away slightly. “I swear B’Elanna I don’t have Toby, and I don’t know where he is.”

B’Elanna hadn’t responded, merely turned and left, leaving the still sparking wires of his door trailing down the wall. Her anger was no less fierce now. Her scowl followed the other crew members gathered for the morning meal, mentally sizing up who might be an accomplice to Tom.

Harry Kim watched his friend make her way through the line, and motioned for her to join him. He immediately regretted his overture when B’Elanna sat down, her scowl directed at him.

“Good morning?” Harry said hesitantly.

B’Elanna glared. “I suppose you’re going to pretend that you know nothing about Tom breaking into my quarters?’

Harry’s eyes widened perceptively. He never thought Tom would be stupid enough to actually enact his plan. Before he could confirm or deny anything, B’Elanna spoke again.

“He took something from me,” B’Elanna said through clenched teeth. “And if I have to tear the whole ship apart, I’m going to find it.”

Harry gulped.

“So you tell your little friend that he’d best return my property soon.” B’Elanna speared a piece of sausage with her fork.

Harry gulped. He was definitely going to have a talk with Tom.

* * *

Seven of Nine found that a good night’s sleep did leave her almost as refreshed and productive as her normal regeneration period would have. Her efficiency, which in the weeks since trying to adapt to sleep had dropped by 7.675%, had returned to normal levels. Seven was not ready to acquiesce quite yet though. One night of sleep did not a study make. Seven vowed to continue to monitor both her ability to sleep and its effect on her productivity. 

The former Borg took up her usual station in Astrometrics with renewed vigor. Tal Celes and Jennifer Delaney exchanged raised eyebrows at Seven’s almost friendly nod of greeting when they came to relieve her at the end of the Alpha shift. Seven had never been solicitous, but as of late the ex-drone had been all but unpleasant when anyone had encountered her. This change had the two women gossiping for the rest of the evening.

Seven had logged off duty and headed directly for the mess hall. The usual boisterous chatter seemed quieter than usual. In fact, Seven noted as she retrieved her meal and took a seat at an unoccupied table, conversation seemed to be reserved to hushed tones and whispers.

With little to no effort, Seven used her enhanced hearing to listen in on one of the closer tables.

“… she kicked in his door, and beat him senseless.”

“I heard she smacked Kim around too.”

“No way. If the chief had really assaulted either of them she’d be in the brig.”

Seven frowned down at her tray. Generally only Lieutenant Torres was referred to as “the chief” and it was highly doubtful that she would attempt to injure Ensign Harry Kim. Seven eavesdropped on another table.

“Paris was jittery as hell. He could barely take two steps without looking over his shoulder.”

“I know. Harry threatened him after lunch outside the mess hall. Told Paris that he’d better give it back, or Torres was going to kill the both of them.”

“How stupid would you have to be to take something from that Klingon?”

Seven choked on her bite of leloa root stew. She’d deduced that the stuffed targ belonged to the Chief Engineer. Apparently it had been Tom Paris with whom she’d collided. It also appeared that Lieutenant Torres was actively seeking her property, and thus far had not progressed any further than the helmsman and Ensign Kim.

The former Borg was in a precarious position. Lieutenant Paris might be infantile and arrogant, but he was not stupid. He had to know that Seven either currently had possession of the targ, or that she knew of its whereabouts. So far, it seemed he had not confided this information to anyone; otherwise Seven was certain that she would have received a visit from a very annoyed half-Klingon. The best strategy seemed to sit and wait. She would just have to be careful.

Later that night Seven lay in her bed and caressed the soft fur of her fugitive stuffed animal as she drifted easily into sleep.

* * *

Several weeks passed. B’Elanna still refused to speak to Tom Paris, but she had forgiven Harry after he had confessed Tom’s plan to kidnap Toby and win her back. Of course the engineer was no closer to regaining possession of her beloved targ. Tom was still adamant that he did not have the stuffed animal, despite his intentions to steal it for nefarious means. Of course the helmsman continued to keep the pertinent details of Toby’s kidnapping to himself. He wasn’t certain which would get him in more trouble with the Klingon, kidnapping the targ and injuring Seven, or kidnapping it then letting Seven walk away with it. Because at this point Tom was certain that Seven had the damn thing, and wasn’t willing to risk the former Borg’s ire either. All in all, the normally social Paris had taken to hiding in his quarters when off duty, knowing that it was only a matter of time before one of the two women strung him up.

* * *

B’Elanna glared at the Second Officer and Chief of Security.

The Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow at her. “Lieutenant Torres, you contacted me about a theft and asked to meet with me in private to discuss attempts to locate your property. Correct?”

“Yeah,” came the clipped reply.

And yet your hostility would indicate that I was the one who had called you into my office for the purpose of correction, Tuvok thought to himself, knowing that to voice these observations would only drive the half-Klingon to further hostility. Instead he pulled a PADD from his desk and prepared to make notes.

“Proceed.”

“Someone broke into my quarters and stole my property.”

“So you have stated Lieutenant.” Tuvok answered voice calm. “When did this theft occur?”

“A few weeks ago,” the half-Klingon frowned, recalling the exact date.

“And were there signs of a forced entry?” Tuvok decided that it would be counter productive to chide the Lieutenant on waiting so long to report the incident. He was also neither blind nor deaf, and was aware that the Chief Engineer had been conducting her own investigation, albeit one that involved threats and ear pulling.

“No, but there was a note.” B’Elanna fidgeted in her chair.

Tuvok’s eyebrow rose again. “And do you still have this missive?”

“No.”

“Do you recall its content?”

“Yes.”

Tuvok pictured a small controlled flame.

“And what did the note say Lieutenant?”

“It doesn’t matter,” B’Elanna said through slightly clenched teeth. “The note made me realize that Tob… my property was missing.”

The Vulcan frowned and decided to try a different path.

“What precisely was taken from your quarters Lieutenant?” Tuvok did not receive an immediate answer, but watched as the half-Klingon broke eye contact and flushed slightly. Curious.

“Lieutenant?”

“What?”

“Your property?”

“Was taken by some honor-less petaQ.” B’Elanna ran a frustrated hand through her hair. How exactly was she supposed to tell Tuvok that the ‘property’ that had been taken from her was a worn and very much loved stuffed toy that she’d had since the age of three? One that she still on occasion cradled in her arms as she drifted off to sleep. She closed her eyes. No amount of desperation could force that little detail from her lips.

“I can’t tell you.”

Tuvok placed the PADD onto his desk and waited for the woman across from him to meet his eyes. “Let me summarize the situation Lieutenant. Someone broke into your quarters. They left a note, which you no longer have and refuse to share the content of. Said note alerted you to the theft of an item of what I can only assume is of a personal nature, as you also refuse to identify what precisely was taken.”

B’Elanna nodded, having the grace to look sheepish.

“And you would like for me to find both the item in question, and the person responsible for its disappearance?”

“Yes.”

“I will begin an investigation and keep you apprised of its progress.”

“Thank you Tuvok.”

It was only after B’Elanna had exited the Chief of Security’s office that she thought she heard a suspiciously un-Vulcan-like groan.

* * * 

Seven of Nine watched Voyager’s Chief Engineer covertly from across the table. The woman had dark circles under her eyes, and her usual appearance was tousled, untidy. The Lieutenant’s temper was tender just waiting for an unsuspecting spark, more so than was usual, but for all of her bluster it seemed she was having trouble paying attention to the words of the other senior staff members gather around the room.

Seven had been tracking the escalation of these symptoms for the past three weeks.

The former Borg refocused on the Captain, chiding herself for letting the half-Klingon distract her once again. This distraction seemed to be escalating in concert with the other woman’s behavior. Lieutenant Torres occupied more and more of Seven’s thoughts. And her thoughts were leading in frightening directions.

Six nights before, Seven had awoken from an intense dream in which she and the Lieutenant had been engaging in non-reproductive copulation. This in and above itself was a shocking experience for the ex-drone, and not solely because of the nature of the dream. It had been Seven’s first dream of any kind since being assimilated. She had lain awake replaying the images, marveling at the physical response they had produced.

Seven had contemplated sexual relations with other members of the crew before, but never the half-Klingon. Never a person of her own gender in fact. While Seven had known intellectually that such an affiliation was acceptable, she had never considered one as the only two females she had any real interaction with were the Captain, whom she considered a maternal figure, and Naomi Wildman who was a child.

But the Lieutenant was neither her mother nor a little girl, and Seven found herself more than slightly intrigued despite the engineer’s blatant dislike of her. So when Seven continued to experience dreams featuring the other woman she found herself awaking with a smile on her lips. Not all were fully sexual. The dream from the night before had involved a softer gentler half-Klingon. The older woman had stroked Seven’s face and placed an almost chaste kiss on her lips before wrapping strong arms around the former Borg in a tender embrace.

Seven of Nine found herself very much wanting to know whether those arms would make her feel as safe and secure and loved in reality as they did in her dreams.

Despite her best intentions Seven once again found her gaze lingering on Lieutenant Torres. The glare she received back when the engineer caught her looking kept Seven’s eyes on Janeway for the remainder of the meeting.

* * * 

Later that night Seven lay in her small bed and caressed the soft fur of B’Elanna’s stuffed animal. Even now, after secretly holding on to the creature for more than a month, Seven still thought of it as B’Elanna’s. The half-Klingon’s scent still clung faintly to the purple material. The former Borg brought the targ closer and inhaled the fragrance. The comfort it brought to her eased some of the guilt she’d been feeling.

Seven was familiar with guilt. Since being severed from the collective, not a day passed that she didn’t dwell on her past actions in the name of the Borg’s idea of perfection. But the guilt she felt toward Lieutenant Torres was a new kind, a more personal and tangible one. It was a temporary feeling though. Seven had every intention of returning the beloved toy to the chief engineer. Just not yet.

The blonde snuggled deeper into the covers, letting the soothing feel and smell of the plush toy lull her to sleep.

* * * 

B’Elanna fought the urge to throw the coupling in her hand at the crewman across the room from her simply because he was smiling. She gripped the metal so tightly that it left indentations along her palm. Vorik chose that moment to make an appearance next to the half-Klingon.

“Vorik,” B’Elanna’s voice was a low snarl. “I’m logging off duty. If you need me I’ll be in the holodeck.”

“Yes Lieutenant,” was the Vulcan’s only reply.

The hard steps of the engineer rang out in the hallway, despite the carpeting and sound buffers. Annoyance and anger radiated off the small woman, leaving a bevy of downcast eyes and muffled conversation in her wake.

B’Elanna sailed through the doors of Holodeck Two, not bothering to stop at her quarters and change, but merely unzipping her uniform tunic and tossing it on the floor.

“Computer, initiate Torres Omega One Six,” she ground out. The grid lines around her disappeared. The lighting became dim, the room seedy and smelling of spilled ale and blood. Two Klingons crouched on the floor playing a game of chance. The first one didn’t even have a chance to look up before B’Elanna laid him out with a fist to the side of the head. The second, surprised by the sight of his comrade flying into the wall, overbalanced and landed on his behind. B’Elanna smirked at his misfortune, allowing the tall warrior the few seconds it took to get to his feet. When he did, it was with a knife in his hand, and B’Elanna’s smirk blossomed into a full blown smile. It was not a nice smile.

Two hours later, the half-Klingon, bruised and bloody exited the holodeck and made her way to the turbolift. B’Elanna closed her eyes for a moment, exhaustion overtaking the other raging emotions within her for the first time in weeks. She heard the doors of the turbolift open, followed a moment later by a startled gasp.

Brown eyes reopened and focused on the half-Kataran child before her.

“Lieutenant Torres, what happened?”

B’Elanna walked slowly onto the turbolift, wincing both at the fact that it was occupied, and at her protesting body. “Nothing happened, Spike. Just working out on the holodeck.”

“You ignored the preset safeties then.” The comment managed to sound like both a question and a statement. “The Captain gets upset when people do that.”

“Then we’re not going to tell her, are we?” B’Elanna couldn’t muster up enough to growl, but her face was very grim. Naomi cocked her head slightly and gave the older woman a smile.

“Sometimes the only way to expel violence from the mind is through violence of the body.” The little girl clasped her hands behind her back and raised her chin up a notch, unconsciously revealing the original speaker of the thought she’d just shared.

B’Elanna muffled a laugh. She could terrify a ship full of grown adults, but this little slip of a girl wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her temper, and instead of looking for the quickest way out of the turbolift, was standing before her imitating a former Borg and tossing out gems of wisdom. “So Seven disregards the safeties too, eh? I don’t imagine you tell on her.”

“No, but she made me a promise in exchange.” Naomi reached out and gently took the half-Klingon’s hand in her own smaller one. “I would be willing to extend the same offer to you Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously something is bothering you. Seven agreed that when she wants to engage in physical violence she must first go and talk to someone about what is bothering her.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the Borg comes and talks to you before she goes off and bashes heads in the holodeck?”

“Sometimes, but I think she usually speaks to the Captain.”

B’Elanna nodded, wondering how she had stepped into this bizarre conversation, and more so, how what Naomi suggested made sense. Apparently Voyager did have a ship’s counselor after all.

The turbolift doors opened, and both passengers stepped out.

“Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you Lieutenant?”

The engineer looked down at the small hand held within her own, and much to her own surprise proceeded to do just that.

* * * 

Naomi Wildman was an extraordinarily intelligent child. She was also a compassionate and empathetic one. The theft of a stuffed animal was a crime that Naomi could identify with. If anyone were to breach the sanctity of her room and steal one of her plush friends she would be very upset. That Lieutenant Torres was an adult only factored into Naomi’s assessment in so far as the lieutenant spent many more years loving her Toby than Naomi had had a chance to love her own stuffed animals. She did however understand that the half-Klingon was embarrassed by the fact that she still possessed a childhood toy, and was not anxious for the rest of the crew to discover it.

Naomi very much wanted to help the Lieutenant, but was uncertain how to do so. An idea struck the little girl. She needed an adult to help her, someone with access to the entire ship. Someone completely trustworthy, logical, and willing to help. The little girl activated her communicator with a smile.

"Naomi Wildman to Seven of Nine."


End file.
